I know
by Poofgoesyourface
Summary: “Well,” he said. “If this is goodbye, I guess we—” WARNING: SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7!


**Well... back on track w/ Harry Potter fanfiction, for the moment... this is a oneshot for those of you who've read Book 7 WARNING! BIG SPOILERS... DON'T READ UNLESS YOU'VE READ BOOK 7**

**It's definitely longer than most of my stuff, so I hope you guys like it... Anyways... it's my tribute to Fred and George Weasley :( and my way to GET OUT MY FRUSTRATION THAT SHE LEFT GEORGE OUT OF THE EPILOGUE!!!! sorry... that made me mad... anyways, here ya go...**

**Disclaimer: without JK, this would never have come about... Book 7 was amazing, and I'm definitely not thinking of taking credit for my two favorite characters, only what happens in this oneshot...**

**I know**

"Sounds like a job for us,"

George grinned along with his twin and when Kingsley turned away to other matters, he and Fred sat quietly, listening politely and attentively, but George knew they were both thinking the same thing.

And then Kingsley released them and people began to move towards their stations, calling out over the crowd to round up people in their group. George turned to his brother and there was a moment's silence during which they both grinned, seeing their own expression reflected in the other. The moment could have extended forever, but there was a war to be fought. It was Fred who finally spoke; Fred usually spoke first anyways. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Well," he said. His tone was light, the same that it had always been, but the expression in his eyes was different, foreign almost. "If this is goodbye, I guess we—"

"I know," George said, his grin turning into a smile.

Fred smiled back and they exchanged one last look before turning to their respective groups.

* * *

It had been five days since Fred died, since Voldemort fell, since Lupin and Tonks lay together in sleep and death, since Harry died and returned. So many people were gone, so many lost and it was the deepest misfortune that one had to be Fred. George had returned with the rest of the family to the Burrow, the first journey he'd made without his brother. Home felt wonderful and it was a miracle it escaped the Death Eaters' wrath but a part of him had died at Hogwarts and he could not bring himself to sleep in the room that he and his twin used to share. Instead, he slept on the couch in the living room despite the abundance of rooms in the house. Nobody made any comment and he didn't express any wish to talk about it. They understood, but not nearly as well as Fred would have if he was alive. 

The funeral was today, but he didn't really look forward to going. It meant he finally had to say goodbye, and he wasn't sure if he ever could. He was only a half now. Fred took the other half with him, and George knew it would never grow back. Oddly enough though, he found that he really wasn't disturbed by that realization. It was like his ear; he'd lost it, and it'd never grow back, but he could go on living without it. Only… Fred wasn't a physical part of him; he was something deeper, something much more meaningful and George knew that it was gone for the rest of his life. George often wondered how much the others knew about his feelings. When Fred was alive, he seemed the only one in their family who was able to understand him fully. The others must have guessed something, but they were also grieving and George found it easiest not to speak of it, to let it heal without words.

Aside from himself, George was surprised to see that it was Percy who took Fred's death the hardest. He supposed it had something to do with Fred being the first to accept him back into the family. George knew that he and Fred were probably the two in the family aside from their father who once hated their oldest brother the most. Fred welcoming him back again was something that Percy probably never expected, and now Percy didn't have a chance to say 'thank you'… not that he ever had any practice thanking the twins. George suspected that it was tearing their older brother apart, and he'd noticed Percy locking himself away in his room for hours at a time. Once, George had even gone up to talk to him and when Percy opened the door, he stared at George as if he were seeing a ghost until he realized it wasn't Fred…

Mum made a similar mistake, and it was getting old. Each time he saw her, her eyes would fill with tears and he'd look away guiltily as Dad comforted her and then she'd sniffle apologies to him and he would leave the room awkwardly. That had been repeated many times in the past five days, and it was a sequence that George tired of quickly. George wondered if any of them could ever see him as George again and not 'Fred's twin'. Then again, there never really was a 'George'. It was always 'Fred and George', never 'Fred' and 'George'. Perhaps they acted so shocked because they recognized that he was only a half. _Less than a half,_ he observed wryly. _I don't have an ear either_. But as for the first mistake, even he'd made it once.

It was shortly after they'd gotten home, and he'd glanced in the mirror and instead of seeing George as he usually did, he saw Fred staring out at him and for the first time in his life, he couldn't tell them apart. He hadn't looked in the mirror since.

Ron, Bill, Charlie and Harry (who was now living with them) all regarded him solemnly, as if he was fragile and they were afraid to break him. He had to admit, he was a little fragile now. A half broke easier than a whole, and he wasn't as sure now, wasn't as confident and comforted. He was alone, profoundly alone, and when he remembered that everyone else had been alone from the cradle, it made him feel cowardly, and so he hid it with all the power of secrecy he had. He had been doing his best to remain what they all used to refer to as 'Fred and George-ish', but they laughed hesitantly at his jokes and seemed to tiptoe around him. It made it harder to retain his old personality, and he'd taken to avoiding them when he could.

Ginny seemed to be the only one who realized that he did not want to be treated like the ghost of his brother or as a half that would never be whole. She laughed openly when he joked, and she acted as she always did around him while at the same time accepting Fred's absence. Needless to say, he found himself in her company more and more and he was grateful for it.

But Fred's death still made him ache with fear and pain and longing. His twin had been his lifetime companion, closer than anyone, able to understand his deepest secret and his rawest feeling. It was like having the skin torn away from your flesh to leave only a crawling, wretched creature that begged and whimpered for help. George had never felt such things when Fred was alive. Fred wouldn't have let him, and in turn, George wouldn't have let Fred. They kept each other contented and well, and now he had to cope without. He had to realize that there wouldn't be somebody he could turn to for immediate understanding. They were torn, rent apart by the world, and George seemed to know instinctively that wherever Fred was, he was feeling the same.

_This is ridiculous_, he told himself sternly. _Becoming a bloody poet is no way to bring Fred back. You own a joke shop, not a blasted printing press for soppy poetry. Pull yourself together._

To his surprise, his mind obeyed him and stopped wandering as the guests began to take their seats. They were set up in the Burrow's backyard; Fred's body lay on a marble platform next to the white podium that McGonagall erected. George wasn't sure how many guests there were, but the backyard was full of people dressed in mournful black and wearing long faces. He couldn't help but think that Fred wouldn't have wanted this at all. It was a grand formal funeral, but he and Fred were always content with much less. It was for that reason that George had donned navy blue robes instead of somber black and pocketed a special object that he'd been designing quietly for the past five days.

He stood smiling by the entrance to the backyard, greeting stragglers and accepting their condolences but he was growing tired of the words 'I'm sorry for your loss,' and 'Fred was a great man, he will be missed'. George was absolutely certain that Fred would have not let his twin's funeral turn out like this, but George didn't have much of a choice. Fred had been a lot stronger than he was, and George couldn't help but feel a little lost.

"Are we late?"

That was unexpected. Once again, he forced his wayward thoughts back into line and saw Luna Lovegood and her father standing before him. He grinned. "Not at all," he said, eyes lighting up when he saw that she didn't wear black. Instead, she had multicolored robes, not bright colors, but not solid black, and she wore little crystal earrings that dangled from her ears. Her father was dressed similarly.

She seemed to have noticed him looking over her attire. "Yes," she said, smiling. "Father and I don't think that wearing black is the best for the dead, so we wear different colors instead to confuse the evil Smakrins who try to follow the deceased into the grave,"

George grinned. "Should I change?" he said, looking down at himself critically. He liked Luna; her attitude was refreshing.

She continued to smile gently. "No, that's perfectly fine," she said in her airy, light voice. "The Smakrins don't like blue,"

And with that, she and her father walked past him into the crowd. He followed them with his eyes, smiling to himself. Smakrins were probably akin to Nargles and Crumpled Horn-Snorkacks, but George didn't mind. Luna, at least, hadn't repeated the now-meaningless words of the other guests.

He turned back to the gate, but nobody else came and he heard Professor McGonagall speak from behind him so he turned around and made his way to the seat in the front next to Ron and Percy. Ron looked at him with the same concerned look everyone had been giving him lately and George returned his gaze with a grin. Ron seemed to smile forcibly, and George scowled and turned to listen to McGonagall instead.

"…we lay him to rest where he has always been, and always will return," she was saying. "Let us share the grief of the family and not forget our own, for Fred Weasley was an honorable boy, however much evidence there is to the contrary." George knew Fred would be laughing right now, and a grin spread across his face, but McGonagall was pressing a damp handkerchief to her eyes and sniffling as she continued. "Most wizards are buried or cremated along with their wands, but we could not find Fred's wand, nor the pieces at Hogwarts…"

In fact, George knew where his wand was. He'd pocketed it at Hogwarts when all the dead were laid out in the Great Hall. For some reason, it was important to him. Fred's things would surely be left in his possession if he asked, but he didn't want any of it. His wand felt different though and George still wasn't quite sure why he'd taken his twin's wand.

"… please join me in a moment of silence for Fred Weasley before we have individual speakers," McGonagall said.

The crowd bowed their heads as one and George did so as well, but he knew there would be plenty more time to remember Fred silently. He didn't really want to be here. The speeches would all be formal and teary, and for some reason, George felt as if that was a betrayal to Fred's memory.

Before he knew it, his mother, his father, Percy, Bill, Charlie and a multitude of others had spoken. They were leaving him for last, but as he listened, he didn't think there was anything he could really say that would dazzle or astound the audience with the beautiful memory of his twin. He'd already found those memories himself, and they would have to also. Speeches were useless to him, but he knew they all expected him to make one.

And then he was walking up to the podium, mind oddly blank, his hand playing with the object in his pocket. As he approached, he looked over at Fred's body and smiled. He could see the familiar, carefree expression that Fred had worn so often in life. It was ridiculous to forget that. He turned away and faced the audience. Almost all of them were crying, but he saw Luna looking up at him serenely, and he couldn't help but grin.

"Well, We-I haven't got much to say, really," George started. He was improvising. "I think everything important has already been said, but then, you would all argue that Fred and I didn't have much regard for what was important early in our lives," they smiled, but it was a sad smile and George fingered the thing in his pocket contemplatively. "So, I suppose I could make a speech, but honestly, I don't think Fred and I ever made a meaningful speech in our lives, unless you count what we said when we ran out on Umbridge. That was from the bottom of our hearts," some of them chuckled, remembering. "Anyways, we always loved a little danger, adventure. Frankly, I think Fred would be bored: no school, no Voldemort, though I'm certainly not lamenting his defeat," he acknowledged Harry with a little nod. "Losing Fred was hard on all of us, but we can recover. Although, I must admit, it'll take me a while to stop referring to myself as 'we'," a couple more chuckles that were choked by new tears. He noticed this with a grimace. Almost everyone who'd spoken already mentioned that Fred would want them to keep smiling, or laughing or enjoying life. He sighed. He didn't want to continue his speech, so instead, he decided to end it there. He took the object from his pocket and hurtled the firecracker into the sky.

It exploded in sparkles of gold, purple and red and the sparkles hovered for a moment before they arranged themselves to read:

Fred,

Joke shop's going good. How goes the branch for the dead? I'm sure they could use a couple laughs.

-George

It seemed fitting when he'd made it. The Joke Shop was probably one of the most important things to them. It symbolized the realizing of their dreams, and George knew that even in death, Fred wouldn't have forgotten it. It had been more than a job; it was something that pulled them infinitely closer and at the same time, pushed them gently apart until the idea was the same yet different to both of them.

People whispered amongst each other, and many cried or laughed or smiled appreciatively. Their eyes were on the sparkling words above them, and they seem to momentarily have forgotten him, and so George took the opportunity to slip off to the side. As they watched, the message dissolved to fall like glittering snow onto Fred's body, and flames roared into the air behind him. George turned around to watch his beloved twin turn to ashes, which, when the fire died down, were swept off the marble table and away by the slight breeze.

He and Fred had never spoken about their funerals before; neither of them thought they would be facing any so soon, and so George did his best to think how Fred would have wanted to be laid to rest and he came to the conclusion that Fred would not have wanted to go calmly. They could have snuck out of Hogwarts under the nose of Umbridge quietly and without disturbing anything or anyone, but almost never in their life had they chosen to do that. It was highly unlikely that Fred would have chosen that for his final goodbye to the world.

After a moment or two of silence, whether respectful or shocked, the guests got up and went to where the rest of the family sat to comfort them and offer condolences. George watched the crowd for a while before slipping away quietly and walking up the hill to where he, Fred and the others used to practice Quidditch.

He stood there a long time, staring down at the little houses and roads of the muggle town beneath them. He wasn't quite sure what he was thinking about, but it was something to do with his twin, and that was all he needed to know.

"That was quite a firecracker back there," spoke a quiet, light voice.

He turned around to see Luna walking up to join him and found he didn't mind her company. "Thanks," he said after he could think of nothing else.

"I expect you don't want to be down there in a crowd?"

He shook his head.

She smiled. "I can leave if you like,"

He looked at her; he didn't really want her to go. "No, that's okay,"

Her smile widened and she looked away from him to the little muggle town. "I think my mother would be happy to buy joke products from your brother," she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

He didn't look at her, but grinned to the air. "I don't think either of us can give up the idea of a joke shop. He'll find a way to make it work,"

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, I suspect so," she said dreamily. "You know, when my mother died, I was quite upset for a long time, but I suppose I found that eventually we have to be whole again," she paused, but he didn't think she was done. "Kind of like a forest after a fire. It hurts for a while, but everything grows back,"

He smiled, but there was a sad recognition somewhere deep inside him. "I was never really whole," he said, a little surprised at what he was sharing. "Fred was always another half of me, I guess. We were complete as a pair, but now…" he trailed off.

She nodded understandingly. "That makes sense," she said.

He didn't reply.

"There are plenty of things that live in halves," she told him. "I think you can do it too,"

He couldn't think of anything that lived in half, but he nodded anyways. "Thank you,"

They were quiet again. "Would you like any help cleaning out your room?" Luna asked suddenly.

George smiled at her offer. He wasn't planning on staying in the room that he and Fred had always shared, and somehow she saw that. "That's alright. Ron and the others will probably help me…" he said. "I'm not going to keep anything of his,"

"Nothing?"

He didn't answer for a while. That wasn't exactly true. He didn't want to forget Fred. He didn't think he ever could, but Luna's simple question sounded accusatory in his mind and he realized that he did want something, something meaningful that both of them would have wanted him to have. "We both pretty much had the same things, but it would be nice to have something to remember him by," he told her, frowning. It was an odd conversation they were having. It was the sort of thing he'd have talked to Fred about when he was alive.

Luna offered no answer, and on impulse, he pulled out Fred's wand.

It was almost identical to his own, but Fred's was a little longer. They were both redwood with a unicorn hair core and Fred's felt intimately familiar to him, just like Fred himself always did. They'd used each others wands occasionally, usually by mistake or when one had misplaced theirs. The wands looked so similar that it was easy to pick up the other's and use it on accident but neither of them had really minded these accidents. Fred's wand always yielded satisfactory results for him, but there was still an awkwardness about using it. Now, he wondered what it would feel like.

He waved it and said the first spell that came to his mind, Fred's face locked in his thoughts. "_Expecto Patronum_"

A silver raccoon burst out of the tip of Fred's wand and turned to cock it's head at him, almost laughing. George grinned. A raccoon had always been Fred's patronus and he smiled at it as it gave him one last look before leaping away and disappearing.

"That was the form Fred's patronus used to take, wasn't it?" Luna asked from beside him.

George nodded, not bothering to ask when she'd seen Fred's patronus. "Mine used to be a Coati,"

"I've never heard of that,"

He nodded again. "Neither had I until I produced my first patronus. It's kind of like a raccoon, really. They're not much different,"

She smiled at him and looked down at the wand in his hand, almost as if she knew what he was going to do next. He took out his own wand and gazed at it for a long time. Then, decisively, he took it in both hands and snapped it in two before laying it on a rock and setting fire to it with his new wand until there was nothing but ashes, which, like Fred's, were swept away by the wind.

* * *

The other guests had all gone back inside to the dinner that was waiting for them on the long table. Instead of following Luna in, George wandered over to the white tombstone that had replaced the marble table. Flowers were already laid on the grave, and George read the epitaph without really realizing what it said. It didn't matter, really. 

He heard footsteps behind him but didn't turn around. George could feel Lee stop behind him and knew that tears flowed easily down Lee's cheeks, but for some reason, George himself was not crying. He seemed unable to. Fred wouldn't have wanted him to, and they'd made a promise. They'd made an unspoken promise that George knew he would follow no matter how hard it was. He'd already taken the first step and the others would come after.

"George?" Lee questioned from behind.

George nodded in response, but didn't turn around. Lee had been one of their closest friends, perhaps the best, but George knew that nobody could replace Fred. However, the twins were right. The sentence that Fred had never completed didn't need to be complete. Both of them knew what he was going to say and it was unnecessary to say it aloud. It was ridiculously cliché, but it was also something private, sanctified by that night when neither of them had finished the sentence. It was a memory they could share even when they were apart.

"George?" Lee repeated slowly. "I… I suppose we've got to—"

"I know," George said quietly, and it was then that he knew he'd kept his promise to Fred and that it would never be broken.


End file.
